Little Secrets
by Sauvignon
Summary: oneshot. everyone has little secrets that make them what they are. KakaIru.


**Little Secrets**

_That Occur at Two in the Morning_

By: Sauv

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Everyone has their own little secrets, the kind you'd keep to yourself, the kind that would make your face flush and your heart race if anyone were to ever find out. Little secrets, the kind that made you into who you are, the kind that could break you. 

Uchiha Sasuke had a Little Secret. Ever night, at two o' clock in the morning, he would get out of his (big, plushy, impossibly _deliciously_ comfortable) bed and make his way to the roof of the Uchiha Mansion. Once there, he would fold his hands behind his head, cross his legs Indian style and lean back to watch the stars. He wouldn't go up there to think about strategies or revenge. He would let the feeling of the tile rubbing against the skin of his hand and the cloth of his nightshirt sink into his soul and he'd let himself go.

Sasuke would spill his soul and let his mind seep into the black starry sky and he would dream. He would let himself fantasize about everything and nothing. With a light smile, he would think about the small things, about kisses and having children of his own and what they would look like. He wouldn't plot, he wouldn't strategize, he would just breath the night air.

He would dream of castles in the sky and let himself smile.

But then, at exactly two thirty in the morning Uchiha Sasuke's smile would vanish from his face. He would push himself to his feet, hop down to his window and back into his (wonderfully comfortable and _utterly big_) bed and sleep. He'd dream of revenge and his family and he'd wake up in the morning angry and hateful. He'd train and plot and live.

But at two o'clock in the morning, Sasuke was a kid who let his mind wandered to a place where only kids can go.

Uzumaki Naruto also had a Little Secret. Every morning at two am he would get up from his (little, uncomfortable but rather good smelling) bed, pad to the window, open it and watch the stars. He would take a deep breath and take in the night air mixed with the scent of his dirty screen and he would cry. He'd let himself pity, he would let the unfairness of the village and it's people affect him.

That was Uzumaki Naruto's Little Secret. At two o'clock in the am, he would let himself go, let himself be weak and vulnerable and he would cry. He'd cry for himself and his scars and for the vicious cycle he was forced to be in the middle of. He'd cry for the demon in him, who constantly reminded Naruto he was there. He'd cry for the sake of crying.

But, at two thirty exactly Naruto would dry his tears with the back of his hand and close the window. He would climb back into his (creaky, ugly, _orange_) bed and sleep. He would dream of ramen, being Hokage, Sakura and he'd wake up in the morning smiling. He'd train and he would get on with his life.

But at two in the morning, Naruto would let himself be a little boy again upset and confused and _utterly_ lost.

Umino Iruka's Little Secret wasn't quite as little as one might think a school teacher's "Little Secret" might be. Really, what'd he do? Fancy triple chucky chocolate ice cream at two in the morning? No. Not quite.

At two in the morning Umino Iruka would wake up to gentle fingertips and soft lips dancing over his body. He'd wake up to loving caresses and pretty mismatched eyes. He would let himself be engulfed with the sensations of another's body warmth, of being pleasured for the sake of pleasuring. He'd bare his soul and let it be sucked up into his partner.

Iruka-sensei would let himself play, let himself get lost in his partners body and his mind and his heart. He would let the sounds of the bed's backboard roughly rubbing against the walls, of the heavy moans and playful laughter, and the teasing touches (_oh god_, the teasing touches) get absorbed into his skin. He'd let himself roll over and get tickled and kissed and smile like a little kid again. He'd let himself laugh and learn and love.

Now, Umino Iruka had never denied himself love. He loved in the daytime, he loved his job, all of his students, Naruto, cooking, shopping, the list was endless. But at two in the morning he would give in to a different kind of love. He'd give in to passionate whispers and (maybe not so) empty promises and the sweet nothings (and how utterly sweet they were) with his nerves on fire and his fantasies a reality.

But at two thirty, he would be alone again, his (warm, oh so warm) bed empty. He would go to sleep, wake up in the morning, sore but happy, and go to work. He would eat ramen with Naruto and he'd laugh and teach and be happy.

Bu at two o'clock in the morning Umino Iruka would let himself live.

Hatake Kakashi didn't exactly have a Little Secret. He had many, many secrets, big ones, little ones, kinda-but-not-really ones. He was just a complex kind of guy. But at one fifty-five in the morning, he would get up from his (lonely, lonely, cold) bed, pull his shirt over his chin and tie his hitai-ite, put on pants, and grab a jar of Vaseline out of the his bedside drawer. He would hop out of his window, and fade into the night, his shadow soaked up by the stars.

If he had a Little Secret, it would be at two thirty in the morning, he would sink into the shadows of his partners room, mask any trace he might leave and watch his lover sleep. He'd watch over the most handsome body he'd ever had the pleasuring of having. He'd let himself get immersed in the feeling of being totally, undeniably in love.

He'd watch his love's chest rise and fall and imagine what it would be like to hold hands in public and kiss in public and love in public. He'd dream and wish and watch and he would love. Then, he would kiss the other's light, silky brown hair, his lovely (and sensitive) scar (enjoying the way the other trembled lightly, unconsciously when Kakashi did so) and he would disappear back into the night's shadows, go home and sleep.

That was Hatake Kakashi's Little Secret.

Everyone has a Little Secret buried far, far down into the heart. The reader of this piece of fan fiction has one, this author has one, and the man sitting on the bus stop across the street reading the newspaper with a paper cup of coffee has one, all nestled down to a place where the naked eye can't see, but it's there. It's never a big secret, it's just a little piece of information you _want_ to share, and you're sure everyone else has one, but you're scared that you're the only one. So you keep quiet, and you don't say a word.

**End.**

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reveiws are welcomed. in fact they're wanted. 


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